Truth and Cookies

Blessed Easter!

Our serial story will continue next week. Today, a Good Friday poem by Latayne Scott.

Novel Writing Dream Teams

I’m in the throes of a new novel idea—actually, a series of novels. But the idea wasn’t mine. It’s the idea of a friend of mine, who is a licensed professional counselor who works with traumatized kids.

She has the brains, I have the brawn (writing brawn, that is; kind of like writing about the archaeological discovery of Sodom.)

Her job in the collaboration is cool: calling on bits and pieces from the times she has testified as an expert witness, from heartbreaking counseling sessions, from case files and a lifetime of research into the depths of the human condition, remembering the ways people find their sanity and hope for the future in situations that would bring you and me to despair.

 Many people combine their expertise with the writing talents of others. I’m thinking of Tom Clancy’s novels co-written with others. In the Christian fiction realm, we’ve seen that recently with the collaboration of Ted Dekker and Tosca Lee.

What is your favorite novel-writing collaborative team? Or, if you don’t have one, what would be your dream team? Whose technical or experiential expertise, and whose writing skills? 

A Thousand Words

Recently I learned of a movie entitled A Thousand Words. In it, a man learns that a tree containing a thousand leaves will lose one of them each time he utters (or writes) a word. When all the leaves are gone, he will die.

It’s about a literary agent, and the importance of words. What a winning combination, I first thought. But I read the professional reviews and found that it is considered by many to be one of the worst films ever made. 

Too bad – the synopsis seemed terrific. It made me think, “What would be the 1000 words I would (undoubtedly hoard but) eventually use?”

I would of course want to tell some people that I love them. But I think I’d be finding ways to show it more effectively. If they didn’t know it from previous words, I’d make sure they knew it from my actions. (Not a bad thing, now that I think about it.)

What would I say or write with my other words?

I’m starting a list of the most important things I know.

Top of the list is this: I believe that Jesus Christ lived, died, was buried – and physically came back to life.

Secondly, the essential fact that God seems to delight in and shine in impossible situations. Abraham and Sarah were too old; Pharaoh’s armies were too powerful; the walls of Jericho were too strong; Goliath was too big;  Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace was too hot;  Mary was too virgin;  Jesus was too dead. . .

Thirdly, the most helpful spiritual truth I’ve learned is that faith comes in three phases: Promise, Contradiction, and Resolution. Everybody needs to know this, and I need to be reminded of it.

Would you write in prose? Would you dole out your words in poems?

How about you? What would you regard as essential to pass on to other human beings, if you only had 1000 words left?

Name That Author Contest--Winners!

It's been an interesting and challenging contest on Novel Matters. Thanks to everyone who participated! We had fun. We had to hold our tongues. It was difficult not to blurt out the answers as the contest went on. But enough blabbing! One with the winners and the answers to who wrote what:

Our grand prize winner of a $50.00 gift certificate for George Popa Sculptures is: Karen Schravemade!! Karen, email us at novelmatters@gmail.com to claim your prize!

Our second and third place winners who will receive a copy of Novel Matters on Rice (and they are sooooooo pretty!) are: Henrietta Frankensee, and Cynthia Ruchti!!

Ladies, please email us to claim your prizes.

One last winner to announce. We are soft hearted women at Novel Matters, and were so

impressed by one woman who guessed the correct writer most of the time. We have to send out

a copy of Novel Matter on Rice to the lovely (and very correct) Megan Sayer! Email us!

Congratulations to all the winners, and a big thank you to all who played along.

Now for the reveal of who wrote what!

Day one. We began with this excerpt:

My keepers won’t let me out of their sight. If they think I’m going to fill my pockets with seashells like a wannabe Virginia Woolf and walk into the Pacific as if it were the River Ouse, they needn’t worry. That isn’t how I have it planned. Though they’ve pretty much crashed my site when it comes to the logistics of just how I’m going to pull this off now.

This gorgeous bit of writing was produced by Sharon Souza. It's from her completed novel The Color of Sorrow Isn't Blue.

Day two. The excerpt began with this paragraph:

I carry the wrapped child in front of me, in the crook of my aching arm, his head above his curled feet, as if he were alive. As if he had ever been born, or named, or

drew breath, or saw his dying mother’s eyes. As if she had ever seen his.

This is the haunting beginning to Latayne Scott's completed manuscript A Conspiracy of Breath.

Day Three. The excerpt began:

After Mother’s funeral I sat on her bed, fingered the peaks and valleys of her chenille spread and plumped her pillow to lean against the headboard. This was her world. A globe. A jelly glass of sharpened pencils. Bottles and bottles of pills. A tattered tower of crossword puzzles and a dictionary with a broken spine. A tub of

Ponds Beauty Cream. Three library books, one with a bookmark only pages from the end. A picture of Papa, me, and the twins. And a Bible swollen with use.

The rich and dreamy excerpt belongs in Patti Hill's completed novel titled Goodness and Mercy.

Day four. The excerpt began:

“Miz Branch?” a voice called. “It’s Eric Russo. There’s something I think you need to see.”

I opened the door and said hello to him through the screen. Eric was one of those polite boys with the acne and hair that needed washing and shoulders rounded like he was shielding himself from a blow. He held a paper in his hand.

This writing started an interesting conversation about voice and how a writer sounds like the place she comes from. Debbie Fuller Thomas is the author of this engaging writing, it is from her work-in-process, Crossing the Breakheart.

Day five. The excerpt read:

These are words of my lost hope. Lost or taken, I can’t be certain, although I once was sure about the order of my life, of the people who came and went, what things occurred and what did not. Does it seem strange to speak about the things that did not happen? As if absence can be marked by the fact of it. How can a person catalogue the life that did not take place?

This writing comes from Bonnie Grove's completed novel, A Girl Named Fish.

Day six. The excerpt began:

Christina tried to warn me about my boss.

"He's not the antichrist - I'm not saying that. Because everybody's going tolove the antichrist, and nobody likes Chuck. It's his one saving grace. But you watch him."

This last but not least excerpt belongs, of course, to the wonderful Kathleen Popa from her work-in-progress The Wonders of America.

We hope you enjoyed our Christmas contest as much as we did. On Monday, we will post a roundtable discussion about these novels, and explain the context of the excerpts. We invite you to join us on Monday to share your writing and reading insights and ideas.

For now: Did you guess correctly? Is there any author reveals that surprised you?

Name That Author Contest--Day Six!

This is it, the last chance to win a $50 gift certificate toward a George Popa sculpture. It's proving a bit more challenging to tell our writing apart than we thought, but we're thrilled that each of us has been mistaken for the other. Such a compliment!

You'll find an unpublished excerpt from one of our six Novel Matters authors below. Consider this sneak peak a Christmas present for your faithful following. We worry all the time that you are giving us so much more than we can hope to offer. We treasure your friendship and pray that the presence of Christ is staggering in your celebration of Christmas. And after you've read the excerpt, guess which one of us wrote it in the comments section.

Here are the rules, again:

1. One guess per post day. (You may play all six days. That's six chances to win a sculpture!)

2. Guesses will be accepted until 9:00 PM Pacific Time the day of the post.

3. Each correct guess wins you one chance in the drawing.

4. The winner will be announced on December 17, 2011.

There are second and third prizes, too, hard copies of our cookbook, Novel Matters on Rice: What to Cook When You'd Rather Be Writing. They're beautiful and full of easy recipes for writers and others, plus quotes about writing and faith from each of us.

And here's our--ta-dah!--final reading:

Christina tried to warn me about my boss.

"He's not the antichrist - I'm not saying that. Because everybody's going to love the antichrist, and nobody likes Chuck. It's his one saving grace. But you watch him."

I don’t pretend to understand much of what she said, but I knew Chuck, and I did watch him.

Just not near close enough.

The day it began was pleasant, at first - just that. The birds were singing their usual amount. The sky was blue, with a haze on the edges from a recent forest fire someplace to the south.

My friends had dropped by for coffee before I left for work. I called them “the Eena's,” Christina Alvarez and Serena Ortega, sisters who raised their families in adjoining halves of a duplex across the street.

I stood at the kitchen counter, browsing through the stuff my daughter had brought home from school.

The paper I held in my hand informed me that Claire Danes was my great-grandmother. Well - not Claire, but Yvaine, the fallen star she played in Stardust.

Her mother - my great-great-grandmother - was Pocahontas, and her mother was Cleopatra. On the other side of the family tree, a bit further back, was Mary Poppins.

"She got a 'D.' Minus." Christina pointed. "So stop smirking. It's not funny."

"Her teacher's got no sense of heritage."

"No, you know who doesn't have a sense of heritage? You! You have no sense of heritage. No sense of family. Lily, you have no family."

"Ouch."

"Did you even offer to help with her homework?" She punched a finger to the inkjet paper Sierra had been given as a history assignment.

I held my hands up. "What could I do? She never even told me about this."

"And why didn't she tell you? She didn't know she could."

"Not listening." I covered my ears. "You can't make me feel guilty for working and supporting my - "

"I work. And my kids know their family."

Of course they did. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, Easter and Memorial Day the street was lined with the cars of the Ortegas and Alvarezes.

"That's because you have a family,” I said. “You said yourself - "

"Sierra has a family. And so do you."

Wonderful, isn't it? Give it your best shot. Leave your guess in the comments section. Return on Monday for our Christmas Roundtable. The conversation continues!

Name That Author Contest--Day Five!

Welcome back for day five of the Name That Author Contest. Do the days go by faster in December? Of course, they do! Take this moment to breathe deeply and do yourself a favor. Our contest is a way to treat yourself this Christmas. Read the excerpt below from one of our six authors. This is from her work in progress, never published, never seen by the public. What a treat! If you think you have a guess, go to comments and leave your guess.

We have a wonderful, beautiful, marvelous prize for our contest--a $50 gift certificate toward a George Popa sculpture. Second and third places will win a hard copy of our cookbook, Novel Tips on Rice: What to Cook When You'd Rather be Writing. The recipes are grand and the graphic artwork is done by our own Katy Popa, an artist in her own right.

Just so we're clear, here are the rules again:

1. One guess per post day. (You may play all six days. That's six chances to win a sculpture!)

2. Guesses will be accepted until 9:00 PM Pacific Time the day of the post.

3. Each correct guess wins you one chance in the drawing.

4. The winner will be announced on December 17, 2011.

And here's excerpt #5:

These are words of my lost hope. Lost or taken, I can’t be certain, although I once was sure about the order of my life, of the people who came and went, what things occurred and what did not. Does it seem strange to speak about the things that did not happen? As if absence can be marked by the fact of it. How can a person catalogue the life that did not take place? The cancelled meeting, the person who did not come, the blister that never raised on my foot. I can do this because everything is always happening, all at once inside each of us. I carry in me the same primordial instinct as did my ancestors and the ancestors before them. The footprint of time is stamped deeply into my DNA and my body tells me of the things that never happened to it, but could have. Should have. And in another time, did.

I’m not crazy. I don’t need to be told what is real. These are the days I live with my eyes closed. The days of absence.

This place within these pages is the only place where no one can touch us. No one can approach, encroach, or rip away. We are safe here in the pages of this book. My journal of the other life I lead. This is the journal of my fondest hope, the place where I have found my truest feeling, my deepest emotion, my most real self. The true life I found lying within the husk of an empty future.

I’m not crazy. None of this is real. Yet it is more real than my hands, which write it.

Now it begins.

A life takes up residence so deep within me its existence can’t be detected on earth.

A secret that is buried weightless inside of my flesh. A heart not yet beating, yet it complies with steady contractions of my own heart. In time, it will take on flesh that is forged by will—constructed—life that is sprung from God’s imagination.

From the beginning, the two of us together extend and contract, one begins and one ends, each contained by the other. My body’s darkness possesses his body, and inside of his forming body he possesses our now shared soul.

It is a boy. I know this in the way women know things. He has a name, it’s the one that has dwelt in the back of my mind from the time I was old enough to have my thoughts turn to such things. A name I don’t speak or allow myself to think. Not yet.

They say you should wait until after the first three months—the first trimester—that it’s within this fragile time so many babies slip from the womb. But he is solidly inside of me. I know this, too in that same female knowing way. He is a stone set in the sediment of a tranquil river. A resident, and not just a stranger passing through. The certainty of him seeps in. But still, I wait to speak his name. I know he doesn’t blame me.

I lie in my bed, and together he and I rest in our shared secret knowledge of one another. I sing him songs that until now I didn’t know I knew the words to. As if his presence has brought the memory of music back to me. This sits right and good. Like another miracle being dragged. That is what this is: a cluster of miracles one following on the other’s heels.

You want to read more, don't you? I know, it's wonderful. Which one of us is this? Make your guess in comments.

Name That Author Contest--Day Four!

It's another week of Name That Author here at Novel Matters, our way of partying with you this Christmas holiday. We're glad you're here to play along. Read the passage from one of our works in progress below and guess which of us wrote it in a comment. If you guess correctly, your name will be entered into a drawing for a $50 gift certificate toward a George Popa sculpture. They're beautiful! And just so you know, the gift certificate will cover the cost of one of his sculptures. Amazing. Second and third places will win a hard copy of our cookbook, Novel Tips on Rice: What to Cook When You'd Rather be Writing.

Here are the contest rules:

1. One guess per post day. (You may play all six days. That's six chances to win a sculpture!)

2. Guesses will be accepted until 9:00 PM Pacific Time the day of the post.

3. Each correct guess wins you one chance in the drawing.

4. The winner will be announced on December 17, 2011.

Here is excerpt #4:

“Miz Branch?” a voice called. “It’s Eric Russo. There’s something I think you need to see.”

I opened the door and said hello to him through the screen. Eric was one of those polite boys with the acne and hair that needed washing and shoulders rounded like he was shielding himself from a blow. He held a paper in his hand.

“I think this might be yours.”

He briefly met my eyes and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. I unlocked the screen and took the paper from him.

…and Sophie was not the type of woman to ‘go gentle into that good night’ without raging…

My name rested at the top left corner.

The page wasn’t even wet.

My voice came out pinched and accusing. “Just where did you get this, young man?”

He cleared his throat. “On the riverbank. There’s more, too. Thought you’d wanna know.”

“On the riverbank?” I asked, not comprehending.

“Yes, ma’am. All up and down both sides. I saw it on my way home from delivering the paper to the Jolleys.”

More pages. Not in the river. On the riverbank. On…The growing roar in my ears made it difficult to hear what he was saying, and it alarmed me when he opened the screen and reached out, but in the end he kept me from hitting the floor by carefully lowering me onto the rug where I sat with my head between my knees.

Hey, wait a minute! I want to read more! I'm sure you do, too. Okay, make your best guess and come back on Wednesday for another chance to guess and enter.

Inside The Three-Inch Frame

Patti’s post on Wednesday, and her call to write what you can see through a one-inch frame about your childhood, led me to a photograph of myself. It’s an old Brownie camera photo, about three inches by three inches, but it’s a good, tight frame. And it’s filled with details.

In my nonfiction book, The Hinge of Your History: The Phases of Faith, I wrote about the fact that our lives have hinge points at which everything changes. For Sarah in the Old Testament, living a life where everyone saw her as a childless old maid, the hinge was the miraculous birth of Isaac.

For me, one of those significant changes occurred at the point of this photograph. Take a tour of this photo with me.

The setting is Northeast Elementary School in Farmington, New Mexico, at the height of the natural gas boom in the early 1960’s. My parents moved there and bought a peach orchard, clearing enough trees to form “Rose’s Trailer Spaces” on Schofield Lane to accommodate the floods of people who moved there from “back east” in trailers (most of them eight feet wide, thirty or forty feet long) with their many children. We children played “gas station” and “fort” in the abandoned chicken farm coops next door. To this day, chicken manure has a good, “right” smell to me.

In the background of the picture is a little person who is not impressed with what is happening with me. What would I have noticed about that girl? See how cute, how little-girl, her shoes are? See what I’m wearing—brown oxfords, because I had weak ankles and couldn’t wear regular shoes until I was a teenager.

The woman in the picture is Marie McCarty. She was my second-grade teacher who announced that someone was having a city-wide contest for students to write about fire prevention. I took the announcement home, and in a very uncharacteristic spasm of interest, my father helped me walk through the house and write about an escape plan, should our second-hand salmon-and-silver-colored trailer catch on fire in the peach orchard.

The essay won second prize, not first. The second-grader who won first prize for our age group wrote a poem. I immediately concluded that poetry was better than prose. I confess, I still think so.

My hair is blonde and curled. I really, really, really wanted straight black hair like an Indian maiden. (I also begged my parents to drop me off at the Navajo Reservation and let me live in a hogan.) To get those curls, I had slept all night in tiny pink curlers that looked like perforated baby fingers split down the middle, with straps that kept them in place. (Before we got the creepy fancy curlers, my mom used rags.)

I’m wearing what was at that time called a squaw dress. It was pale pink with copper and black braid on it. My mother made one for herself and this one for me. I remember her muttering curses at the sewing machine as she sewed, one eye shut because she had eye problems, wearing a gigantic unyielding brown back brace the size and shape of a washerwoman’s basket.

Mrs. McCarty is giving me a certificate and a five-dollar bill for winning second prize. I am very proud. One of my classmates called me “moneybags.” You could get money for writing? Who knew?

But none of these details are as formative of me as a writer, as another detail you can’t see. Notice how my skirt poofs out? In those days, all little girls wore these stiff, tiered, scratchy net slips. They printed tiny hexagon shapes into your thighs if you sat very long. You endured them, but they could never be allowed to peek from your hem or one of your friends would come up to you, wide-eyed and alarmed and tell you in a harsh whisper, “It’s snowing down south!”

I had several slips. When I wasn’t wearing them, they hung on the back of the door of my bedroom, where I slept on the bottom bunk and my brother on the top.

I was not yet aware that I was extremely nearsighted. When we had the stand-in-line-read-the-charts vision tests at school, I always got in the back of the line and memorized what the other kids said, because I knew not being able to see was a moral failure of some sort, because my dad got mad the first time I brought home a note saying I needed glasses.

So at night, I would lie in bed and try not to look at those fluffy slips which took shapes and menaced me. I was convinced sometimes that George Washington was looking at me with disapproval. Other times the pastel layers would blow in a breeze and make changing, reaching landscapes where I couldn’t hope to get a foothold and might slip into its depths and never be found again.

I was ashamed because I couldn’t see, and ashamed that I could.

Every night I slept at the far edge of the bed, my back against the trailer wall, with all my dolls at my feet and a space in the bed for Jesus who I’d heard never had a place to lay His head.

Every night, I fought a battle with the terrors and the unknowns of my own imagination.

The battle never stopped. Every day, fifty years later as I write, I do the same.

The Truth About How Long it Takes to Get a Book Published

I don't do much author mentoring, because I have learned a painful truth: The vast majority of people who say they want to write a book for publication are not willing to submit to 1) the discipline of learning to write well and 2) then going through a frustrating and time-devouring process of personal inactivity (that's code for "waiting and waiting and waiting") to see it through.

I'm not a good example of the norm for getting your first book published by a major Christian publisher, because as a young author with a few magazine article credits, I made a chance comment about being a former Mormon to a published author I'd just met. She said, "I have a publisher who would love to publish a book by you," -- and within a few months I had a contract with Zondervan. Not the norm. Did I say, "not the norm"? (I see it as the power of God, operational and irrepressible. And the book has stayed in print, with only one small hiatus, for 30 years.)

But now, even with over a dozen published books, I submit myself to the process that may have only slightly fewer steps than that for a complete neophyte. For the sake of those of you who wonder what you might reasonably expect (divine intervention excepted, that is), here is an approximate timetable of the process.

I begin by saying that two things must precede this process: You must have something unique and compelling and marketable to say (and if for the Christian market, inner assurance that you've been called to be a writer), and you must be able to write well. Please do not inflict yourself upon the overwhelmed professionals of the market if you have not fulfilled those two requirements.

Since most Christian publishers today do not accept unsolicited manuscripts, and if you do not win a contest (like our "Audience with an Agent" contest) or meet an editor or agent who requests your materials personally at a conference such as Mount Hermon, I will start the process steps with the acquisition of an agent.

Please bear in mind that this is an approximation of the process which any number of factors can greatly lengthen or shorten.

1. Author completes a non-fiction proposal (including polished sample chapters) as per the style sheet or instructions on an agent's Web site. This must be as perfect as he can make it because rarely does an agent ask for a rewritten proposal. At this point a very wise (and relatively inexpensive) strategy could be to pay a publishing industry professional to read and evaluate your proposal before sending it. (Our own Sharon K. Souza offers such a service which I highly recommend.)

2. Author seeks that agent with the completed proposal. If submitting to multiple agents, the author carefully fulfills each agent's specific guidelines that may include parameters such as word count, line length, and manner of submission; and indicates in the cover letter that the author is pursuing multiple agents.

3. Agent typically takes several weeks/months to respond to proposal. Many proposals which have not followed guidelines, are inappropriate for the agent's profile, are unremarkable, or are poorly written are never seen by the agent. An assistant weeds them out and rejects them.

4. If the agent likes the proposal, the agent will typically research the author’s Web presence, confirm any claims the author has made about himself if possible, and use any other resources the agent has (including talking to other agents.) If agent likes what he sees, he signs an agent's contract with author. Author may want to have a lawyer look at this contract. (An author should never sign with an agent who also offers editorial services for hire, or who works with a vanity publisher.)

5. Agent will correspond with author for additional information such as specific marketing plans, then tweak proposal. Agent then asks editors if they want to see the proposal (this action is called a pitch.) Sometimes an agent will not pitch to editors with individual projects, but will wait until making appointments with editors at an industry event like ICRS (the Christian book industry's annual conference), where the agent will maximize the editors' time with one-on-one sessions in which the agent tells the editor of multiple authors' projects appropriate for that publishing company. Therefore, a pitch can be inactive for several months before such a conference.

6. At a conference or other face-to-face meeting, an editor will usually tell the agent which ideas are appealing and she would like to pursue by seeing a proposal. If the pitch was via email or phone conversation, the editor expresses interest, sometimes quite a while after the conversation.

7. The agent sends the proposal to the editor. If the agent has pitched multiple projects to multiple editors, this may take a week or more as the agent returns home and tries to catch up on emails, etc.

8. If editor wants to pursue the proposal he/she received, he/she takes the proposal to a publishing committee. These meet sometimes only two to four times a year, some more often. Sometimes a publishing house has more than one committee to evaluate a book.

9. Marketing people do analyses, publishing committee members all read proposal.

10. If the publishing committee(s) decides to publish the book, the publisher sends a book contract to the agent.

11. Agent negotiates the publisher's contract. (This sometimes takes quite a while because of such things as electronic rights, royalty rates, and delineation of publisher’s commitment to marketing.)

12. Agent sends final publisher's contract to author.

13. Author reads carefully and then signs contract -- and only then can author correspond directly with the editor who is assigned to work on the book (sometimes not the acquisitions editor who first asked for the proposal or book.)

14. The author completes or rewrites the contracted book as per company guidelines. The contract specifies a deadline, and since many processes (such as catalogue listings) depend on this deadline, the author must never miss the deadline. Often first-time writers have to do extensive line edits or revisions after submitting what the author considered to be the "final" manuscript. (Here, too, is where a publishing professional’s evaluation and pre-editing can help. Some of us NovelMatters writers use such professionals to tweak our manuscripts before submission, even though we are experienced writers.) The writing/rewriting process can take months to complete -- or longer.

15. Editor approves the final draft of the book. Author may or may not be included in such decisions as cover art, though an agent usually insists on this.

16. Author looks at page proofs to catch last-minute errors.

17. Usually several months, sometimes much more time--even over a year-- transpires before the book appears in print. Some books are not scheduled for release for years or more after the contract is signed because of full publication rosters. Other projects get “bumped” by higher-profile books with time-sensitive subject matter.

Sometimes the process has "extra" steps. For instance, since my first book, The Mormon Mirage, was controversial and I was relatively unknown, the publisher sent my proposal (and then later the entire manuscript) to an expert in Mormonism to read. This evaluation (completely separate from the selection and editing processes) held up the publication for several months.

Published authors, do you have anything to add to my list? Those of you who are pre-published, what do you think?

Touching Beauty

Debbie's post on Wednesday got me thinking about devastation. She rightly noted that it is an overwrought phrase found on too many jacket flaps. I haven't used the word in my proposals, but I still had the feeling of getting my hand smacked on the way to the cookie jar. I mean, if Talking to the Dead wasn't a story about personal devastation, then Bob's my auntie. Somehow I managed to wade through without using the word. Skin of my teeth.


I believe that all fiction is spiritual because all fiction (even the cheesy paperbacks we hide under our beds) is the exploration of what it means to be human. The human experience is the spiritual experience. And fiction is the human experience under duress. It asks, what is your mettle? What does it matter if you and I were born and grew and cried and wandered and settled and died?


Life asks more of us then we are wont to part with sometimes. We go through seasons of sorrow, loss, ill health, depression, bad bosses, divorce, abuse, or self-hatred and long for them to end - or better to have never happened at all. We turn to fiction to assure us, in a way only fiction can, that we will rise again. That in the midst of the gut wrench, there is lasting meaning. We ask, what worth is suffering? And fiction replies, come close and I'll show you.


When I read impossibly great stories such as Let The Great World Spin, History of Love, Latayne's upcoming novel A Conspiracy of Breath, I'm pulled into the levels of loss, the degrees of suffering common to the human experience. And inside these stories I find I am stretching my hand in front of me, working hard with the story to reach the goal. What is the goal? I suspect there are many ways to say it, many forms it takes, but for me, the goal it to touch beauty.


I can survive the ripping away as long as you can help me see the beauty in the pain. And I'll need help seeing it. Fiction is our helper. It reaches into our untapped reserves and helps us practice living within the safe confines of imagination. It's a stage on which we can rehearse our truth by examining the truths presented to us in story. And the whole time it whispers, Look for what lasts. Don't look away when it hurts. Find meaning. Picture yourself as a rising Phoenix. Touch beauty.


In the end, we all want to trade our ashes for beauty.


What purposes have you found for fiction? Has it shored you? Been a lasting example of hope? A warning? Has it helped you touch beauty?

Novel Matters and She Reads Partner to Create a Wonderful Reader/Writer Community

We're ringing in the 12 Days of Christmas on Novel Matters. (for full contest rules, click the link.)

"On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...
four calling birds

I'll send a signed copy of Raising Rain to the person who can find an author's last name in the phrase: FOUR CALLING BIRDS and name a title by that author OR submit a book title with one of the words from the phrase and the author. Submit your entry using the "Contact" button above. See complete details for the contest on the November 23rd post. Good Luck! The winner will be announced on Wednesday, December 2nd.

She Reads and Novel Matters – Bringing Writers and Readers Together

Proverbs 15:22 says, “Without consultation, plans are frustrated,

but with many counselors they succeed.”

That’s collective wisdom.

The authors of Novel Matters (Sharon K. Souza, Debbie Fuller Thomas, Latayne C. Scott, Patti Hill, Kathleen Popa, and Bonnie Grove), together with the authors and brilliant minds behind She Reads (Ariel Allison and Marybeth Whalen) announce a partnership designed to bring writers and readers together in a new, dynamic way.

She Reads blog is all about “Discovering Great Fiction Together.” Their motto is "The proper care and feeding of readers." Since their inception, She Reads has reached out to the reading community and provided a place for discussion, book clubs, events, contests, and arranged ‘close encounters’ for readers and writers to connect. Each quarter, She Reads chooses three “picks” to share with their readership. They are part of Proverbs 31 Ministries – an important and dynamic ministry to and for women.

Novel Matters blog is a community that celebrates the creative process of writing. We explore what matters in novels. We are six published authors – our combined books number 27. We have teamed to build a community populated by authors, writers, hopeful writers, readers, and people interested in the different ways of expressing creativity, language, and ideas.

The partnership between these two groups opens new opportunities for readers and for authors. To paraphrase author Kevin Crossley-Holland, we hope to create a "room with big windows" where readers can come into the lives of published authors who struggle daily with words and authors can partake of the privilege of meeting and sharing with readers.

What the partnership will look like:

Each site of course will maintain its own identity, as a readers' community and a writers' community.

Twice a month, an author from Novel Matters will post on the She Reads blog, giving insight to the creative process, answering reader questions, and revelling in our shared love of books and reading. Yes, Novel Matters is populated with authors, but each author is also an avid reader. We devour books and love to talk about our reading experiences.

Once a month, an author from She Reads will post on Novel Matters – bringing a wealth of insight on how authors can reach readers. This goes beyond marketing tips. The instruction they bring will help authors build trust with readers, and touch their hearts.

She Reads and Novel Matters are dreaming big dreams -- of glimpses into each others' worlds -- a place of community where you Read Novels -- where the She of each of you truly Matters to authors who care about their craft and their readers.

Please welcome Ariel and Marybeth!

~She Reads, Of Course!~

It’s funny how the best friendships are often started over a cup of coffee and a great conversation. Or, in the case of the She Reads Directors, Ariel Allison and Marybeth Whalen, an e-mail that basically said, “Hi, you don’t know me, but we will be friends!” (Ariel’s fault – she’s long been in the habit of plucking her friends at random with a gut feeling and a bold invitation).

Yet even in friendship, there must be commonality and for these two women it boiled down to books (and children – they have ten between the two of them). They love to read, they love to write, and they love to recommend books to others. Over the course of countless sessions of Gmail chat they came to the conclusion that book clubs are rather elusive entities. They are scattered, independent, and numerous. Yet book clubs are the heart of the publishing industry, and the key to reaching readers on a large scale. Thus the idea for an umbrella organization, specifically designed to meet the needs of book clubs and individual readers, was formed.

As a long time member of the Proverbs 31 Ministries speaker team, Marybeth suggested the idea to the organization as a way to expand the reach of their ministry. There are countless women who would never darken the door of a church or attend a Bible study but would go to a book club and discuss a Christian novel. It was only a matter of weeks before Proverbs warmly pulled She Reads into the fold. And here they are, just four months later reaching thousands of readers each month. Dozens of She Reads book clubs have formed, and many existing clubs have come under the She Reads umbrella. Women hunger for novels that matter and for authors that are approachable. She Reads exists to bridge the gap between the two.

So who are these two crazy women who’ve shouldered such a massive undertaking? Just two mommies, befriended by words, and a passion to help the world understand the power of story:

Marybeth Whalen is the wife of Curt and mom of six children. The family lives outside Charlotte, NC. Marybeth is a member of the Proverbs 31 Ministries speaker team and a regular contributor to their daily devotions. She served as general editor of For The Write Reason and The Reason We Speak. She and her husband Curt co-authored Learning To Live Financially Free and her first novel, The Mailbox will be released in June 2010. Marybeth speaks regularly to women's groups and enjoys sharing stories from her daily adventures as a wife, mom, writer, and, most importantly, a follower of God.

You can find her online at www.marybethwhalen.com.

Ariel Allison is first and foremost the wife of Ashley, and mother of London, Parker, Marshall, and Colby. She has a penchant for adrenaline-infused madness such as rock climbing, running marathons, and jumping off bridges – as if raising four pre-school boys were not adventure enough. Her first novel, Eye of the God, released in October 2009, from Abingdon Press. She is the co-author of Daddy Do You Love Me: a Daughter’s Journey of Faith and Restoration, and Jesus: Dead or Alive. When not immersed in a book, changing a diaper, or rescuing her dog from the death-grip of a toddler, you can find Ariel loitering in her little corner of cyberspace at www.arielallison.com. She and her family make their home in Texas, which is, according to her husband, the greatest state in the union.